Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 9-16-07

Thank you for all the feedback on my questions. I have a good idea of Harry's place in the scheme of things now. And it's good to know a toaster is a toaster on both sides of the pond. Hello and welcome to my new readers! I'm happy to say that once again a comment helped me add to this story. You're a great group of polishers for my tale. You read, you review and the story gets better (and longer).

Some answers to questions:

scheherazade If I write suspense, it's not suspense. If I read something suspenseful, I'm still a total, lily-livered wuss.

Kaley If you see other Americanisms where the British would use another word, my email is always open to you for corrections. Please.

This reminds me - if anyone sees typos or other errors of grammar or punctuation please email me (or tell me in your review). I hate errors and want my writing to be correct.


So...Lucius' first day 'on the job' as houseboy. I'm afraid that as Hermione's household help, he makes a great Slytherin. 8-)

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Chapter Twenty

Kiss the Cook


Hermione was sitting at the end of a beautiful, long candlelit table wearing a beautiful, long expensive dress, brushing her beautiful, long straight hair back as she batted her beautiful, long eyelashes at her devoted, gorgeous, naked husband at the other end of the table. His beautiful, long, hard…

“Hermione!” My, he was anxious to show her his beautiful, even longer…

“Hermione! Wake up!” Lucius was shaking her shoulder, trying to get her attention.

“Wha…? Huh? Lucius, you have clothes on.”

Hermione wasn’t waking up fast enough for Lucius, so he pulled her out of the covers and stood her on her feet.

“Oh, drat. I was having a lovely dream. You were naked -”

“I’ll be naked for you later, Hermione, but hurry. The kitchen.” Lucius scooped up her robe and dragged her down the hallway to the kitchen where she could smell something burning.

“Lucius! What have you done?” Hermione hastily donned her robe, tying it haphazardly above her fertile bump.

“Your toaster. It’s not working as it should.” Lucius stood back, divorcing himself from blame while Hermione advanced toward the smoking apparatus. A gentle stream of smoke was wafting from the device along with some snapping flames. Hermione hurried back to her bedroom and emerged with her wand. She created an airtight dome over the toaster to smother the flames, unplugged it and then inspected the damage, looking down into the slots at the charred remains of some toast.

“Alright, so if you can, Lucius, I’d like to hear just what caused the toaster to malfunction.” She turned toward the not so innocent bystander with her arms crossed in aggravation. “I told you not to touch anything without asking me first.”

“Well, you were sound asleep and I was hungry. You told me yesterday how that particular appliance worked so I decided to have some toast. I found some sliced bread over there in the pantry.” He pointed at the food storage area like it was responsible for the minor catastrophe, not him.

“And?” Hermione’s foot started tapping, annoying Lucius even more.

I merely put the bread in the toaster and depressed the lever like you said. A few minutes later it started smoking, then it caught fire.” Lucius crossed his own arms, increasingly annoyed at being found at fault.

“That’s all? That’s all you did?” Hermione’s eyebrow went up in disbelief. That wasn’t merely toast she smelled burning.

“Well, of course, I buttered the bread first.”

“You WHAT?”

“And the marmalade. I like marmalade and I found some in your pantry. What’s wrong with that?” Lucius had been rather proud of himself for getting his own food. He didn’t like feeling stupid and he hated having things go wrong because he couldn’t function for himself. He was discovering he was more out of his milieu than he had realized. An angry frown blossomed and his eyebrow went up just like hers.

Hermione tried to keep a straight face, she really did. But it was a losing battle and she covered her mouth with her hand and howled. “Oh, Lucius, that’s so funny!”

Lucius stormed out of the kitchen and headed straight for the front door. He was shrugging on his cape when Hermione walked up to him.

“Leaving so soon?” Hermione was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes as she watched her indignant husband look around for his cane. “For a premier Death Eater, you certainly have very little staying power. One small setback and you’re finished. I suppose you’ll deign to return when my libido acts up again, Mr. Sex Toy? You did promise.” She unknowingly had reminded him just what he could lose by walking out her door.

Hermione’s remark made Lucius pause. He was apprehensive that his newfound erection would wilt again if he left her. And as his anger lessened he sighed to himself, he really didn’t want to leave. He was embarrassed at his mistake and felt horribly twitchy inside at having erred so badly with such as simple task. His pride was smarting, but he didn’t want to leave, only how could he now retract his impulsive desire to escape his humiliation?

“And how are you going to wash my dishes from your mansion?” Hermione went up to her irate husband and began petting his chest with both hands. “Has my beautiful busboy quit already after promising me his help during my pregnancy?” She began unbuttoning his cape, “Am I left with a sex toy who only does the occasional house call or is that over, too?” Hermione stepped away and began to stroll back toward the kitchen calling over her shoulder, “If you’re hungry, I can make you some pancakes with syrup and butter. And marmalade if you wish. I can also brew up some coffee or make tea. You may wish to stay for breakfast before you go. Why don’t you put off your cape until after you eat?” She disappeared on down the hall to the kitchen leaving Lucius to decide for himself.

Bollocks! She knew he didn’t want to leave. She was offering him a bit of face-saving asking him to stay for breakfast. Maybe she wouldn’t mention anything if he just stayed after breakfast too. Lucius stood there dithering for several moments. After all, he had offered to run errands for her and he truly didn’t want her to do anything that might injure her or the baby. He didn’t like her living alone while in an advanced state of pregnancy. Yes, he definitely needed to stay to keep her safe, even if he had to endure a little embarrassment. That decided, Saint Lucius the Martyr removed his cape and carefully hung it on the wall hook again, then sauntered down the hall to some intriguing clanging and the welcome smell of cooking food.

Lucius entered the kitchen and found two places had been set at a small gateleg table that had been shoved up against the wall before. “You’re right. I signed on as a sex toy, didn’t I? So here I am. See? Sex toy ready at your command. My new motto is ‘I come when called, and I come when used.’ It has a rather snappy sound, don’t you think?” Just then his stomach obliged with a loud growl of emptiness.

“Yes, a snappy, growly sound,” Hermione giggled, smiling at her husband. “Sit and I’ll have breakfast for you in just a minute.”

He ignored the giggle and gazed around at the green counters and white cabinetry with the touches of red geraniums hand-painted on a stencil design at the tops of the walls; he had missed most of the décor the night before and his truncated toasting tribulation hadn’t helped him enjoy the ambiance either. The kitchen colors appealed to him, especially the green and he decided Hermione’s house was a cheery little place – for a shack. Pallid sunshine caught the green-sprigged curtains and brightened up the small kitchen area, beckoning Lucius to make himself comfortable. Her home did have the virtue of being bigger than his prison cell and he liked the warmth. His mansion always had an errant draft or two seeping in, keeping the old pile cool.

He almost sat down before it crossed his mind to ask, “Is there anything you would like me to do to help?” He cringed a little as the words left his mouth. He supposed he’d done enough helping already, but surprisingly Hermione said, “Yes, please. Can you put the tea in the pot and pour the boiling water from that kettle over the leaves? But first, put some of that boiling water from the kettle into the pot and swish it around a bit, then toss it out in the sink.” When he went to get the kettle Hermione cautioned, “You’ll need a heating pad to keep your fingers from burning on the teakettle handle. Use that green one.”

Lucius did as she directed then he looked at the tin of tea. “Uh, how much tea should I put into the pot?”

“Two big pinches of it should do the trick. Pop the tea into the infuser there.” She didn’t want to say ‘teaspoons’ or even ‘spoonfuls’, because Lucius would be faced with not knowing what a teaspoon measure was or how much to scoop up in a spoonful. He really was a tyro in the kitchen. But he had actually asked to help. Maybe there was hope. She watched as Lucius got two big pinches of tea and dropped them into the gadget she’d pointed to, then after rinsing the pot with the hot water like she’d said, he added it to the teapot.

Lucius picked up the pad again and carefully poured the kettle water over the infuser. He returned the kettle to the stove and looked down into the teapot. The water was turning brown so he figured he’d got this right anyway. He put the lid on the teapot, lifted it and was about to place it on the table.

“Put one of those wood squares under the pot so it doesn’t hurt the table finish. I’ll be finished in five minutes, so relax and pour yourself some tea. It should be finished steeping in a couple of minutes.” Hermione stirred the batter for the pancakes and poured two large dollops into the frying pan.

As she bustled around the kitchen getting the butter, syrup and marmalade (which Lucius had neatly put back precisely where he’d found it) Lucius got up and went to look at the pancakes. “This is amazing, tidbit. So this is how one makes pancakes. I’d never really wondered before, but it’s actually rather fascinating. Can I pour one?” Lucius looked over his shoulder at his wife, “Can I make any size I want as long as it fits the pan?”

“Any size you want. Let me get the finished ones out first.” Hermione saw the two she’d started now needed turning, so she flipped them to cook on the other side. “If you make a big one, you can’t really efficiently turn it, though. You can make lots of little ones if you want. Those are easy to turn.” She removed her pancakes and gave the spouted container with the pancake batter to her husband. “Easy does it.”

Lucius decided to make a lot of little pancakes, so he dolloped them around the pan trying his best to make them perfectly circular. He was mostly successful, being the finicky wizard he was and Hermione hid an amused smile at his cute captivation with the cooking process. This exercise in sharing appeared to be going a bit better than his first experience of the Muggle world, losing to a ferocious, ego-eating toaster.

“Now you wait until you see a few bubbles come up, some in the middle but mostly around the edges, then you turn them over.”

Lucius saw the bubbles appear almost immediately, because his pancakes were so small, so he used the turner and gently flipped each of his little perfect masterpieces over, never messing up a single one. Being fussy did have some advantages. When they were done, Lucius carefully transferred them to a plate and put the plate at his place at the table.

Hermione turned off the stove, took the two she’d made and sat down, too. She began slathering hers with butter and syrup while Lucius sat very still observing his creations. “You should eat them while they’re hot, Lucius.”

He looked up at Hermione and sighed, “I don’t want to destroy all my careful work by eating them.” He looked back down at his accomplishments in rapt absorption.

“Well you can choose one to shellac for posterity, and eat the rest. How’s that for a compromise?” Hermione bit into her breakfast, chuckling as Lucius pinned her with a frosty glare.

“Very funny. Have you noticed that your sense of humor has a rather vicious edge? I suppose you never did anything for the first time and wanted to keep the memory?” Lucius reluctantly reached for the butter.

“Oh, sorry. You’re right, of course. I have my first spelling bee medal from the six-year-old’s competition still in my lingerie drawer. I do apologize. I’ll make more batter tomorrow if you like and you can practice turning bigger ones. I really think you have the makings of a professional pancake turner.” She snickered as she ate her way through her second pancake.

Lucius glared at his wife, and began eating his little darlings. “Very well, you can teach me how to make the batter and I’ll make the pancakes tomorrow. That means you wash up.” Lucius was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he had his full allotment of brains. He smiled wickedly as he chewed when Hermione frowned at him.

Breakfast ended and Hermione tied a frilly, bright pink apron on her husband, which he promptly took off again. “I don’t need to be tarted up like a whore’s boudoir to do the washing up. If I get anything on me I can use my wand to clean it. As a matter of fact, why can’t I use my wand to wash up the dishes?”

“I never said you couldn’t. As long as the dishes are all cleaned and put away, I don’t care how you do it. Do you want me to show you how to wash dishes the Muggle way or do you just want to use your wand?”

“You may show me how Muggles wash dishes and then I’ll decide which I want to do.” Lucius nodded regally and stepped back from the sink to let Hermione start the water pouring from a spigot. Actually Hermione didn’t do much cleaning up herself. She had Aggie for those chores, so if she needed to clean anything she used her wand, but telling Lucius so wasn’t part of her strategy.

Seeing a slice of Hermione’s daily Muggle life was of interest to Lucius and he saw how she set up the dirty items and put in a blue liquid, which caused foam to appear in the swirling water.

After quickly running all their silverware through the dishwater, she took the teapot and washed, then rinsed it and put it in a rack. “When all the dishes have dried, I put them away. I do sometimes use my wand to dry them so I can put them away faster.” She stepped back. “Do you want to try?”

Lucius actually liked the foam and thought there might be another use for that blue liquid later, if he could somehow transfigure her tiny shower into a bathtub. He dipped his fingers into the foamy water and then slid his hands around in it, his sensuous nature coming to the fore. “I’ll try washing this way today. But I might use my wand later.” He took a teacup and swirled it in the water, rinsed it and put it in the rack. After the second teacup was done, he tackled the dishes with the syrup and butter smears. Swirling them didn’t work as nicely as it had for the teacups, because they were too big and the butter didn’t come off very well. Lucius looked at Hermione in silent query.

“Use this dishrag and scrub the plates.” She handed him an old faded piece of cloth, which he hesitantly accepted pinched between his finger and thumb. It looked diseased to him, but with a pained grimace he heroically dunked it into the water and wiped the plates clean. The dishes were racked and the frying pan was scrubbed with the dead-looking rag, then put with the other wet dishes. “If I am going to be helping around your house, I think maybe I’d better clean with my wand or learn to cook. Using this,” Lucius raised the rag, “germ farm to clean the dishes makes me faintly nauseated, plus my hands feel all dried out.” He spread the faded rag out daintily over the spigot and then washed his hands thoroughly.

Hermione offered a slight palliative because he had been willing to work, “If you care to, you might use a pair of dishwashing gloves over your hands next time.”

Lucius turned a jaundiced eye on his little tormentor, “You have gloves for this task? May I ask why you didn’t offer them sooner?” He looked at his manicured fingertips and expensively kept hands, noting with some dismay that the soap was very drying to his sensitive, pale skin. They were starting to look like they had with that horrid soap in Azkaban; he’d spent weeks having them repaired in an upscale salon.

His social sphere demanded elegant, well-maintained hands to shake over deals and greet wives with. It wasn’t purely an affectation for him. Clean, soft, blemish-free hands declared an owner’s wealth and in a very real way proclaimed his competence in his high-flying business world. More importantly, his hands were usually his first contact with this little spitfire and abrading her delicate skin with dried-out lobster claws was nowhere on his agenda.

“I didn’t offer because I don’t have any in your size. The housekeeper and I both wear a small size and there’s no way your hands would fit those gloves. However, I can ask Aggie to pick up a pair in the large size when she goes to the shops.” Hermione started down the hall to her bedroom – well, their bedroom – she amended with a private little thrill.

“I could have transfigured them,” he grumbled acerbically, “but in case I do dishes again, perhaps a larger pair would be wise.” Lucius followed his wife, enjoying her pert little bum as she went down the hall. From the rear she didn’t even look pregnant and those waving butt cheeks were making him hard again. Thank Merlin! His spirits began to rise along with his staff.

He gently persevered with his own ideas, “I still think an elf would make everything much simpler. I could have one come for the day then apparate back to the manor at night. Or you could come to my home. You’ll have to move into it sooner or later.” Lucius didn’t know what was next in her daily routine, but he had hopes for his wife needing a lie down sometime during the day. He wanted to test out his tool again to be sure it was working properly.

Hermione leaned up on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. “No elves, but thank you for helping me in the kitchen.” She looked up at him, drowning in those mesmerizing wintry eyes as usual. So pretty, so egocentric. “So, when are you going to file our marriage lines with the Ministry?” Hermione asked slyly.

“I already did it this morning while you were playing slug-a-bed. Do you always sleep so late? I only tried to do the toast myself because it was already ten o’clock.” He watched as she disrobed and selected a loose dress from the closet.

Hermione had to appreciate his creative lie about filing their marriage contract at the Ministry. So Slytherin. She would break him of that particular habit - lying to her was NOT going to be part of their marriage, especially when those lies tripped so easily off his tongue. “Sometimes I sleep late. I was kept up past my bedtime last night if you recall.”

“Mmm. Vaguely,” he smiled, ogling her openly. As she was picking out her lingerie, Lucius just stood back and appreciated her enhanced bustline. Lucius liked a good pair of jugs as well as the next wizard, but what had completely enthralled him in prison – and still did - was her mind. Jugs he could find anywhere; a first class, curious intellect in a young, beautiful female came along as often as Hagrid shaved.

And, he admitted to himself, there had always been something irresistible about this one…being near her was like bathing in a warm, scented spa – both exhilarating and calming to him and he needed the calm she exuded, he needed it badly. His fastidious, frenetic nature so often made him feel like a prisoner of his own body, he could never get his world organized or planned enough. But in her presence all his tension just ebbed away; she had the ability to set him free from the cage of his own egoistic compulsions.

Her innocent nature added a missing element to his own more predatory personality completing him in ways he didn’t understand but now recognized as essential to his mental well-being. Unfortunately, he had only truly discovered that after he had wounded her with his self-preserving attempt to escape from her.

Lucius snapped out of his mental meanderings and frowned at her choice of a dress in a particularly (to him) vulgar shade of electric blue. Was she color blind, too, like her servant? Maybe all Muggle eyes suffered from a washed out sense of color and needed blindingly bright hues to compensate. He decided now was not the time to ask.

It was entertaining to stir her up occasionally just to see the steam rise, but she fought with him unafraid, she laughed with – and at him (damned toast!) – and best of all, she made love like a feral tiger kitten. She looked all soft and cute, but she came with tiny stinging claws that truly felt like angel dust on his skin. The longer he was near her, the more relaxed he was, and he hoarded that feeling more tenaciously than his Gringott’s vault numbers.

He knew he had been stupid to leave her before, but he had been so petrified by her ascension over his senses – a Mudblood for Merlin’s sake! - that his dominant, patrician personality rebelled, forcing him away from what he had identified as a dangerous loss of self. She was dangerous to him, but it had taken him months to recognize that something elementary had changed within him - it wasn’t merely her presence subverting his autonomy - he just was no longer happy without her. Repelling those insidious tendrils of sentimental emotion invading and twisting his biased Pureblood beliefs was worse than useless – he couldn’t escape those any more than the inexorable web she’d woven around his psyche.

Hermione hadn’t a clue what was brewing in her husband’s serpentine mind and she was actually rather impressed with Lucius’ willingness to do some chores in her kitchen, but she wasn’t through with him by a long shot. She wasn’t interested in making him miserable as he had her, but she did want him to acknowledge her as his wife to his entire social enclave and support and respect her equally even if it flew in the face of his own overblown ego and repellent philosophy. She began to slip on her bra when a slightly detergent-dried hand fell on her shoulder.


tbc...

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Sorry, there was no way I could convince Lucius to wear that apron. I almost got hexed over it and I wasn't ready to lose both my ears just for the cheap thrill of seeing Lucius in pink ruffles (really, that man has NO sense of humor).


And this isn't really a cliffhanger. You all know exactly where it's going. Would you hire Lucius for your houseboy? Lascivious remarks will be accepted as an answer. (I know you'll do it anyway.) Happy reviewing!


P.S. For those who do not, will not, or cannot review, there is always the "rate" button below.
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